so i asked you, maybe, baby whatcha gonna do
by clarembees
Summary: roman realizes he's kind of screwed - or renee young with her golden hair, sweet smell and bare feet is a huge distraction for the powerhouse of the shield


_a/n: this is from having "i was made for you" by she & him on repeat. in my other wrestling fics, i've mentioned roman and renee being together, so i wanted to write something for them. they're adorable and the way he's always flirting with her and the 'baby girl,' i can't._

**~*~so i asked you, maybe, baby whatcha gonna do~*~**

* * *

_one._

The first time Renee Young interviews The Shield – or more accurately, _Dean and Seth_, they're the talkers; he's the strong, silent type in the background, not at all interested in speaking unless he's got something to say, like he told Michael Cole – Roman figures she's pretty, in that conventional All-American way, even though she's _Canadian_.

She's not overly made up like the Divas with their heavy makeup and bright eyeshadow and fire engine red lips.

The blush on her sun-kissed skin is natural and her golden hair falls down in waves around her slim shoulders, bared by the cut of her deep blue dress.

He can't decipher her scent; it's not the expensive perfume wafting down the hallway from the Divas locker room, but it tickles his nose and makes him want to breathe in deeper.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to 3MB before the match tonight, Roman?"

He blinks; suddenly realizing she's right in front of him, mic held out and waiting for a response.

"I like to do my talkin' in the ring."

"Well, there you have it, The Shield is clearly confident going into their match against 3MB tonight on Main Event, and why wouldn't they be? Though, new to the scene, they've dominated each one of their matches so far. Will tonight be different? We'll have to wait and see. Back to you Michael Cole."

It wasn't until Seth called out, "Yo, Rome! C'mon, man, we gotta prep!" that the Samoan realized he hadn't followed his stable mates down the hallway. The camera, of course, had panned away from him; focusing on Renee, but he was still standing in the spot he had been moments before. He was now well acquainted with the nice curve of her backside, accentuated by the body hugging fabric of her dress.

_Fuck._

_two._

It's the same body hugging, shoulder baring deep blue dress she's wearing when she's with him, Dean and Seth in the ring on RAW. Kane, the director of operations, called them faceless, among other things.

He blames that damn dress, he blames that she's close enough that he can smell her, that sweet smell he can't name, but that makes him want to breathe in deeper.

And the fact that she's not wearing shoes.

If she were in heels, she wouldn't be on the tips of her toes, stretching to bring the mic up to his face, so the crowd can hear his response.

"Do I look faceless to you, baby girl?" His tone is smooth, practiced and cocky.

"Baby girl?" Seth's tone is amused when they're in the locker room, changing out of their ring gear.

"What?" Roman rises to his full height, staring down his teammate, daring him to elaborate. He doesn't need this shit, the teasing and whatever. He knows what he called Renee. He knows it's probably all over twitter and the dirt sheets and everywhere else by now.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Reigns." Dean grumbles, removing his combat boots. "You're not the only one who thinks Renee's hot or flirts with her. Everybody does. Except Tyson. But Natalya's got his balls in a jar somewhere."

The lunatic fringe laughs at his own joke, slipping off his tactical vest next as he levels a look at the tallest of his teammates. "If you're gonna lay it on thick with her like you're doing, you better make your move. Someone else might just snatch her up."

He can't explain why, but Roman can feel his veins boil with heat. His face grows dark and he's scowling as he undresses, the thought of someone "snatching" Renee isn't all that appealing.

_three._

"Do you _actually_ own a pair of shoes?" He doesn't know where that came from, he doesn't do _that_, just walk up to people and start saying random things, Dean does that.

She looks down at her bare feet and wiggles her manicured toes, and it's not supposed to be cute, but it is. Just like she was cute in that stupid Wolverine mask for that sketch on the JBL and Cole show a few months back. Or when she was flashing around her work visa in response to the 'Real Americans,' and she got all sassy.

Her lips bloom into an easy smile, painted with that gloss that makes them look [too damn] kissable, as she laughs, bright and warm, "Try wearing a pair of heels for an hour and then ask me if I own a pair of shoes. Not all of us are Nikki Bella who won't leave the house unless she's in _at least_ four inch heels."

He laughs, and she gasps dramatically, slapping both hands to her cheeks, mouth dropping open. "_This_ should be a WWE exclusive, Roman Reigns, laughed!"

Her face looks ridiculous, like she's imitating the kid from _Home Alone_, and it's not attractive or at least it shouldn't be, but she – somehow – is still cute as hell.

And yeah, he's on his way to being screwed, if he's not there already.

_four._

Drunk Renee is something he doubts he'll ever forget. It's the after party for Summer Slam, and she's just gone. He hears Nikki Bella mention, sloppy giggles mixed in with her slurred words, how Renee's in "Brie Mode." Her twin, who's just as wasted, throws her head back and laughs loudly, head falling onto her fiancee Daniel Bryan's shoulder.

The heavily bearded wrestler just shakes his head, amused smile crossing his lips, as he guides the drunk brunette through the throng of people, deciding it's time for her to sober up.

"Daaaaaance with me," She calls, practically draped over his impressive frame. He knows it's her and not some random girl or a ring rat or a Diva, because he recognizes_ her _smell; even with all the other competing scents swirling around the packed club, hers is still distinguishable.

"I don't dance."

"Of course you don't." She pouts, sticking out her bottom lip adorably. "You're soooooooo serious, with your serious face," She pokes – or tries to, anyway – his cheek, but catches air instead. "And how you're always trying to be scary." She scrunches her face, brows burrowing down and lips pursing, trying to imitate his very intimidating scowl that has struck fear into the hardest of men.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Come on, baby girl, let's get you out of here."

He raises an eyebrow, once he's taken her back to her room at the hotel, realizing that she's wearing shoes. It's strange, sort of like she can be, that she's wasted and wearing shoes, but when she's sober and at her job she hardly ever is.

He slides the pumps off her feet, revealing the dainty arches and perfectly manicured toes. On her big toes there are decals of microphones, and his lips curl easily. He doesn't think she'll be comfortable in her dress – skin tight and zipped up – but he's not going to take advantage of her drunken state, no matter how badly his fingers ache to feel her sun-kissed skin underneath their calloused pads.

He just leans over and kisses the crown of her golden curls as she starts to snore, as loudly as a train, not at all ladylike or demure, but somehow it suits her in her conventionally unconventional pretty way.

_five._

Roman doesn't know how or when, but more often than not, he wakes up with Renee in his bed, sprawled out – taking up as much space as her slender frame can – and hogging the covers. Apparently she heard from his cousin Jimmy Uso that he's never seen _Star Wars_, and it was her mission to rectify that immediately.

Two weeks ago she showed up at the door of his hotel room with bags of popcorn, a two liter bottle of soda, the DVD of the first film in the original trilogy and wearing flannel Chewbacca pajamas, her hair twisted on top of her head in a messy bun.

Without waiting for a response, she barges in saying with disapproval, "How have you gone _this long_ without seeing _Star Wars_?"

She's too adorable to refuse; glaring daggers in ridiculous pajamas that hang loose on her slender frame and her hair twisted messily atop her head, so he doesn't.

And that's the first time he woke up with her.

The second time he wakes up with her is after they watched _The Empire Strikes Back_, the third is after _Return of the Jedi_, and after the fifth time, he stops counting and remembering how she got there in the first place.

And if he wasn't screwed before, he's screwed now.

_six._

Renee likes hugs. He's not exactly the most affectionate person, not like Seth who will pounce on him or Dean or anyone, really, for any reason or no reason at all. But he's not like Dean, either. Dean would rather have a root canal with no Novocaine than be randomly hugged. If Bayley, the young NXT Diva, didn't have the best set of puppy dog eyes known to man, the lunatic fringe would've had no qualms about shoving her away after, in her excitement, she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms and legs around his stiff frame like an octopus.

But Renee hugs. Anyone, everyone. Well, almost everyone. It's not like she's running up to Hunter or Stephanie and hugging them.

And now, when she sees him – after training, after their interviews and promos and beforehand – she, without preamble, walks right up and hugs him.

Most wouldn't dare, as he prides himself on being feared and intimidating the rest of the Superstars around him, but she's unfazed by his warrior's walk and perpetual scowl on his face.

_seven._

She looks good in red. Too good. She's wearing another shoulder bearing dress and laughs, as she brings her mic closer to Bad News Barrett, who's leaning in just a little too close.

Del Rio does the same thing when it's time for his interview. Ziggler _actually_ compliments her, and there's a pretty flush to her cheeks – deeper than it's natural color – and the bleached blonde California boy, gets superman punched _and_ speared during their one-on-one match.

_eight._

She's a soft touch, which isn't surprising, but what is, is just how _thorough_ she is.

They're a tangle of limbs; her sun-kissed skin a perfect contrast to his golden olive, one shapely leg slung over his waist, the other wrapped around his while his hands are in her hair and her fingers are tracing the intricate designs of his tribal tattoo.

The passion in her warm brown eyes was practically blinding as he slid inside the perfect velvet of her warmth, and as she wrapped her pretty mouth around him – knowing just when to lick, nibble and suck – he realized he should've expected how thorough she'd be.

As serious as he took his job, was as serious as she took hers. Always prepared, never late, willing to improve, never resting on laurels.

"I thought I was going to have to jump you, like Nikki practically ordered me to after RAW two weeks ago." Her voice is breathless, tickling the skin of his ear. "Either that or she was going to lock both of us in a closet, so she wouldn't have to deal with our, quote "totally obvious ape horniness for each other" unquote."

"Baby girl, if either of us was going to do the jumping, it'd be me."

"Oh, really? Then what the hell took you so long? Doesn't Roman Reigns just take what he wants?"

"Not when it comes to you. You deserve it so slow and smooth."


End file.
